953 

O" 
C(L 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 


BY 


CAPTAIN  JACK  CRAWFORD 
"THE  POET  SCOUT" 


When  'round  the  camp  fire  comrades  sit, 

In  open  air  or  hall  or  tent, 
The  chambers  of  each  heart  are  lit 

With  sparks  of  fun  and  sentiment. 


CHICAGO 

CHARLES  H.  KERR  AND  COMPANY 
1893 


Copyright  1893  by 
J.  W.  CRAWFORD 


J 


CONTENTS. 


Old  Abner  Brown 7 

Weeds  of  the  Army,  ."j  j.  *... .  .^. 15 

Thar'  was  Jim •'."••i . . .  I '^'"."TT.T 18 

A  Happy  Hit 20 

The  Veteran  and  his  Grandson 23 

He  Changed  his  Views 28 

The  Last  Roll  Call 30 

Jim's  Letter..... 31 

When  Bill  Come  Home 34 

The  True  Story  of  Marching  Through  Georgia .- 37 

Scene  in  a  Soldier's  Home 39 

Cheers  for  the  Living,  Tears  for  the  Dead A 42 

Sunshine V:^rrrrT!T. 43 

Sleep,  Soldier,  Sleep  ...  /!J<H , ^^ 44 

Who  The  Heroes  Were , 46 

Not  a  Sin  To  Lie  That  Way.... ...47 


A  WORD  AT  THE  START. 


For  several  years,  often  without  the  least  provocation, 
I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  reciting  rny  army  poems  and 
singing  my  army  songs  whenever  I  could  corral  a  squad  of 
my  old  comrades  yet  possessing  vitality  enough  to  survive 
the  affliction.  80  far  I  have  escaped  with  my  life,  and  with 
but  few  bruises,  for  which  I  am  truly  grateful  to  the  kind 
providence  which  has  stood  by  me. 

Often  after  reciting  some  of  the  crude  offspring  of  my 
somewhat  erratic  brain,  I  have  been  besieged  by  comrades 
who  desired  to  secure  copies  of  them,  and  on  innumerable 
occasions  I  have  been  urged  to  group  them  together  in  a 
little  book,  so  that  all  might  secure  them.  Yielding  to 
these  many  importunities,  I  have  selected  a  few  that  I  re- 
gard as  the  best  of  my  soldier  poems  and  songs,  and  I  now 
send  them  forth  under  the  title  "Camp  Fire  Sparks.' 

With  the  earnest  wish  that  their  perusal  may  in  a  small 
measure  light  the  path  of  many  an  old  veteran  who  is  near- 
ing  the  picket  lines  of  the  eternal  camp  above,  I  am,  com- 
rades, Yours  in  F.  C.  and  L. 

J.  W.  CRAWFORD, 
"CAPTAIN  JACK." 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS. 

OLD  ABNER  BROWN. 

(Dedicated  to  the  Gallant  Volunteer  Soldiers  of  Indiana.) 

Not  far  from  a  quiet  rural  town, 
In  Indiana,  dwelt  Abner  Brown. 
Full  six  foot  three  in  his  home-knit  socks, 
He  could  strike  a  blow  that  would  fell  an  ox. 
His  time-touched  hair  stood  erect,  and  seemed, 
As  an  iron-gray  crown  over  eyes  which  gleamed, 
When  fired  with  rage,  or  alight  with  mirth, 
As  the  coals  in  the  fireplace  over  his  hearth. 

Two  idols  only  old  Abner  had, 

A  good  old  wife  and  an  honest  lad, 

A  sturdy  youth,  who,  the  neighbors  said, 

From  his  cowhide  boots  to  his  shaggy  head, 

In  voice  and  action  and  restless  fire, 

Was  an  artist's  proof  of  his  aged  sire. 

And  the  old  man's  love  was  lavished  upon 

The  faithful  mother  and  rugged  son. 

Their  home  wa,s  a  house  of  rough-hewn  logs, 

They  kept  their  horses  and  cows  and  hogs, 

And  toiled  on  the  farm  day  after  day, 

In  a  sort  of  automatic  way. 

Till  they  grew  to  care  but  a  trifle  what 

Transpired  away  from  that  rural  spot, 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

Yet  read  they  carefully  o'er  and  o'er 
The  news  which  the  County  papers  bore. 

Old  Abner  boasted  of  fighting  stock, 
And  to  patient  listeners  long  would  talk, 
Of  his  father's  deeds  in  the  many  frays 
Which  tinctured  the  old  Colonial  days, 
And  then,  as  a  sequel,  would  tell  how  he, 
Imbued  with  his  old  sire's  loyalty, 
On  many  a  bloody  field  had  fought, 
'Neath  Mexico's  sun  with  Taylor  and  Scott. 

One  day  when  the  weekly  press-damp  sheet, 
Was  thrown  from  the  stage  at  old  Abner's  feet, 
The  driver  cried :    "There  is  Hell  to  pay ! 
Old  Abe  wants  volunteers  right  away!" 
He  grasped  the  paper  with  eager  hand, 
And  paled  as  its  pages  his  keen  eyes  scanned, 
For  the  angry  bellow  of  Sumpter's  gun, 
Had  told  to  the  world  that  the  war  was  on. 

He  set  his  teeth  as  in  lock  of  death, 
And  curses  rode  on  his  heated  breath, 
For  the  hands  of  traitors  had  dared  to  fire 
On  the  flag  'neath  which  had  battled  his  sire. 
His  boy,  just  verging  on  manhood's  dawn, 
With  the  old  man's  valor  and  nerve  and  brawn, 
In  open-lipped  wonder  stood  and  heard 
The  startling  dispatches  word  for  word. 

"May  the  God  of  Heaven,"  the  old  man  cried, 

"In  His  power  sweep  the  threatened  storm  aside, 

And  unnerve  the  arms  that  would  dare  assail 

The  flag  of  our  country  with  leaden  hail! 

May  the  fury  of  heaven  envelope  those, 

Who  have  from  their  loyalty  turned  to  foes — 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

Who  have  leveled  with  traitorous  hands  the  gun 
At  the  flag  of  my  father  and  Washington. 

"I  followed  Taylor  that  bloody  day, 
When  our  flag  was  planted  at  Monterey, 
And  held  my  place  in  the  fierce  attack, 
Which  humbled  our  foes  at  Chepultepec, 
And  now  when  my  country  calls  once  more, 
For  help  for  the  flag  our  fathers  bore, 
My  blood  runs  riot  in  every  vein, 
And  I'll  bare  my  breast  to  the  storm  again!" 

With  pallid  lips  his  old  wife  replied : 
"Nay,  Abner,  you  must  not  leave  my  side. 
The  flash  in  the  eyes  of  our  brave  boy  there, 
The  tint  of  the  coming  battles'  glare, 
Tells  all  too  plainly  that  he  will  go, 
And  meet  on  the  field  our  country's  foe. 
Our  Zack  will  bring  not  the  coward's  shame 
On  yours  and  your  father's  war-honored  name. 

"But  one  can  I  spare"  said  the  loyal  wife, 
"For  I'm  drawing  near  to  the  eve  of  life, 
And  one  of  my  loves  must  stay  at  my  side, 
Till  I  feel  the  chill  of  death's  rolling  tide. 
Zack,  my  brave  boy,  since  our  country's  birth, 
The  Browns  in  battle  have  proved  their  worth, 
And  the  day  now  dawns  when  that  loyal  name 
Demands  from  you  a  new  crown  of  fame." 

The  j^outh's  cheeks  reddened  with  patriot  fire, 
As  he  knelt  at  the  feet  of  his  gray-haired  sire. 
His  life  to  his  country  pledged  he  there, 
For  the  life  of  the  Union  he'd  do  and  dare. 
Warm  was  the  blessing  the  old  man  gave, 
Warm  was  the  kiss  from  the  mother  brave, 


10  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

And  sleep  came  not  to  their  eyes  that  night, 
For  Zack  would  start  at  the  morning  light. 

Drawn  up  at  the  depot  the  volunteers, 
'Mid  goodbyes  and  blessings,  and  whispered  fears, 
Awaited  the  train  which  should  bear  them  down, 
To  the  terrible  shadow  of  war's  dark  frown. 
There  were  sobs  and  wailings,  and  tearful  prayers, 
As  the  stirring  drums  beat  the  martial  airs, 
And  the  founts  of  grief  to  their  depths  were  stirred 
When  the  roar  of  the  coming  train  was  heard. 

Old  Abner  stood  like  a  monarch  grand, 

And  took  his  son  by  the  toil-scarred  hand : 

"My  son  do  yer  duty  whar'ever  you  go, 

Keep  yer  honest  face  ever  toward  the  foe. 

Guard  well  the  honor  of  that  good  name, 

Which  yer  sire  and  yer  grandsire  clothed  with  fame. 

Goodbye,  my  loyal,  beloved  son — 

Write  an'  let's  know  how  yer  comin'  on." 

Fiercer  and  fiercer  the  conflict  raged, 

And  Abner  chafed  like  a  lion  caged, 

And  murmured  loud  at  the  ties  which  bound 

Him  far  away  from  the  battle  ground. 

The  fires  of  valor  within  his  breast, 

Caused  his  heart  to  throb  with  a  wild  unrest, 

As  the  parson  read  to  the  eager  groups, 

The  deeds  of  the  Indiana  troops. 

Heavy  as  lead  seemed  his  great  hand  when 
O'er  the  sheet  he  would  guide  the  old  quill  pen, 
Tracing  the  news  of  the  home  to  Zack, 
Of  the  corn  in  tassel,  the  wheat  in  stack 
How  his  mother  feebler  and  feebler  grew, 


CAMP  fIRE  SPARKS  11 

How  the  news  of  their  battles  like  wildfire  flew, 
And  he'd  close;  "Write  quick  as  you  kin,  my  son, 
An'  let  us  know  how  yer  comin'  on." 

O'er  a  new-made  grave  stood  old  Abner  Brown, 
At  the  fresh-laid  sod  gazing  sadly  down. 
His  face  was  drawn  with  the  cords  of  pain, 
As  he  said  in  a  low  and  faltering  strain : 
"Goodbye,  old  wife— you  are  safe  at  rest, 
Your  loyal  soul  is  among  the  blest ; 
While  here  in  repose  you  peacefully  lie, 
I  go  to  the  battle,  Goodbye,  Goodbye." 

Young  Brown  on  guard  near  the  sleeping  camp, 
Heard  off  in  the  distance  a  measured  tramp, 
And  through  the  shadows  a  form  drew  nigh, 
.Like  a  giant  outlined  against  the  sky. 
"Halt!  Who  comes  there!"  With  a  movement  quick, 
His  musket  hammer  was  heard  "Click-Click!" 
When  a  voice  came  forth  from  the  hazy  dawn, 
"Hullo  thar,  Zack,  how  you  comin'  on?" 

Together  amid  the  hot  battle-fire, 

Shoulder  to  shoulder  fought  son  and  sire, 

And  the  records  in  yon  State  House  to-day, 

Recount  their  gallantry  in  the  fray. 

And  right  in  the  cauldron  of  fiery  hell 

A  fragment  hurled  from  exploding  shell, 

With  the  shriek  of  a  demon  struck  young  Brown's  head, 

And  he  sank  'mid  the  dying  and  the  dead. 

Sank  as  the  Southron  hosts  drew  near, 
With  the  rebel  yell  and  the  victor's  cheer, 
And  the  ranks  of  the  Union  were  driven  back, 
And  Abner  was  swept  from  the  form  of  Zack. 


CAMP  FIRE 


Not  long;  did  the  Hoosier  boys  give  way, 
To  the  charging-  foe  on  that  dreadful  day, 
But  the  tide  of  battle  they  backward  tossed, 
And  quickly  regained  the  ground  they'd  lost. 

When  the  day  was  won  and  the  foe  crushed  back, 

Old  Abner  sought  o'er  the  field  for  Zack, 

Forms  turned  he  over  with  trembling  hand, 

And  death-paled  features  he  eager  scanned. 

A  thousand  faces  his  torch  revealed, 

As  he  sought  through  the  night  on  that  bloody  field, 

But  the  one  which  he  feared  might  meet  his  gaze, 

Was  missing  from  out  of  that  pallid  maze. 

Through  the  years  of  the  war  old  Abner  fought, 

And  great  the  slaughter  his  strong  arm  wrought; 

And  God  in  mercy  Kid  from  his  ken, 

The  horrors  of  Belle  Isle's  prison  pen, 

Hid  from  his  ken  his  demented  son, 

A  pale,  wan  skeleton,  living  on, 

When  all  of  the  world  was  dead  unto 

The  brain  which  the  shell-wound  overthrew. 

»» 
For  years  and  years  on  his  search  intent, 

To  our  great  reunions  old  Abner  went, 

Seeking  the  son  whom  the  cruel  fates 

Had  buried  beneath  an  asylum's  gates. 

In  unbelief  he  would  shake  his  head, 

When  comrades  assured  him  his  boy  was  dead, 

And  oft  from  his  breast  was  the  query  drawn  : 

"I  wonder  how  Zack  is  a  comin'  on." 

Had  he  known  what  surgical  skill  had  wrought, 
Had  he  known  how  oft  to  the  old  home  spot, 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  13 

The  home  he'd  abandoned  long  years  before, 
His  Zack,  with  heart  all  heavy  and  sore, 
Had  sought  for  his  sire  by  a  hope-spark  led, 
Had  been  told,  oh,  so  often,  he  must  be  dead, 
The  happy  reunion  for  which  he  prayed, 
Would  not  for  the  long  years  have  been  delayed. 

One  year  ago  when  the  veteran  throng, 
With  joy  and  laughter  and  story  and  song, 
In  response  to  the  annual  bugle  call, 
Were  massed  at  the  nation's  Capital, 
A  bent  old  soldier  with  snow-white  hair, 
His  face  all  seamed  with  the  lines  of  care, 
Went  tottering  up  through  the  busy  street, 
Half  lifting  half  dragging  his  weary  feet. 

Eager  the  look  on  the  wearied  face, 

As  onward  he  moved  with  unsteady  pace, 

His  palsied  head  keeping  time  to  the  beat, 

Of  the  rattling  drums  in  the  blue-thronged  street. 

Eager  the  glances  the  old  eyes  threw 

Into  the  faces  of  boys  in  blue, 

Who  hither  and  thither  moved  restlessly, 

Like  the  murmuring  waves  of  a  rolling  sea. 

The  spark  of  hope  in  his  breast  sank  low, 
Till  he  scarce  conld  feel  its  encouraging  glow, 
As  he  noted  each  passing  face  was  not 
The  face  of  the  lost  one  for  whom  he  sought. 
Yet  onward  and  onward  and  onward  he  went, 
Till  he  stood  at  the  door  of  a  wide-spread  tent, 
Where  the  hours  of  the  evening  were  sped  along, 
With  speech  and  story  and  war-time  song. 

A  voice  from  the  song-group  caught  his  ear, 


14  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

And  with  expectation  near  drowned  with  fear, 
He  pushed  his  way  through  the  merry  throng, 
To  the  fountain  head  of  the  stirring  song. 
With  wild  glad  hope  did  his  breast  expand, 
As,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  palsied  hand, 
He  gazed  on  the  comrades  who  sang  in  glee, 
Of  the  days  when  Sherman  marched  to  the  sea. 

His  face  grew  pale  as  the  face  of  death, 

And  faster  and  faster  came  his  breath, 

As  the  face  of  a  brawnj^  boy  in  blue, 

Imprinted  its  lines  on  his  aged  view. 

Then  teardrops  coursed  from  his  dimning  eyes, 

As  he  tottered  forward  in  glad  surprise, 

And  cried  through  a  smile  bright  as  heaven's  dawn, 

"Hello!  thar,  Zack!  how  you  comin'  on!" 


"WEEDS  OF  THE  ARMY." 

Some  of  the  papers  tell  us  that  the  boys  of  the  G.  A.  R. 
Never  smelt  smoke  in  battle,  nor  went  to  the  front  in  war — 
They  brazenly  tell  us  our  roster  bears  only  the  names  of 

those 
Who  paused  at  the  roar  of  conflict  and  northward  pointed 

their  toes. 

• 

They  say  that  the  true,  brave  soldiers  have  never  entered 
our  ranks, 

That  we  never  were  known  to  muster  but  a  lot  of  political 
cranks — 

As  one  of  the  papers  put  it,  Ave  are  but  the  weeds  of  the 
crop — 

But  loafers  and  shirks  and  cowards,  who  never  heard  mus- 
kets pop. 

Who  are  these  traitorous  writers  who  are  casting  their  ven- 
omous slime 

O'er  men  who  gave  all  to  their  country  at  that  trying,  ter- 
rible time  ? 

They  are  the  cringing  cowards  who  never  dared  go  to  the 
front, 

And  stand  with  our  fearless  soldiers  and  help  bear  the  bat- 
tle's brunt. 

They  clung  to  the  skirts  of  women,  and  soon  as  our  backs 
were  turned, 

Our  flag,  our  cause  and  our  country  the  cowardly  mis- 
creants spurned. 

15 


16  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

Go  seek  them  wherever  they  loiter,  from  the  gulf  to  the 

northern  lakes, 
And  you'll  find  them  but  treacherous,  venomous,  hideous 

copperhead  snakes. 

Let  us  pause  on  a  shaded  corner  and  see  a  procession  pass 
At  a  great  Grand  Army  reunion,  when  the  veterans  form  in 

mass, 
Just  note  the  dismembered  bodies,  the  crutches  and  canes 

and  scars, 

That  mutely  tell  us  the  story  of  the  bloodiest  of  wars. 
Just  gaze  on  the  flags  they  are  bearing,  all  riddled  with 

shot  arid  shell, 
The  flags  they  carried  undaunted  right  into  the  gateway  of 

hell- 
See  the  bodies  bent  and  disabled,  made  so  in  the  battles' 

fierce  blast; 
Are  these  the  weeds  of  the  army  at  whom  these  insults  are 

cast? 

Brave  Garfield,  our  honored  martyr,  wore  the  badge  of  the 

boys  in  blue.. 
And  Hancock,  the  mighty  soldier,  was  a  comrade  tried  and 

true, 
And  Logan,  our  own  loved  Logan,  undaunted  in  peace  and 

war, 

Was  proud  to  be  called  a  member  in  the  ranks  of  theG.  A.  R. 
And  Grant,  the  intrepid  chieftain,  who  was  honored  in  every 

land, 

Stood  in  the  ranks  of  veterans,  a  comrade  noble  and  grand, 
And  Sherman,  our  "Uncle  Billy,"  God  bless  his  old  grizzled 

head, 
Rejoiced  in  being  a  comrade  of  the  boys  he  so  yaliantjy  led, 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  17 

Go  search  o'er  the  peopled   country  for  the  heroes  who 

fought  in  the  war, 
And  you'll  find  on  each  notable  bosom  the  eagle  and  flag 

and  star — 
'Tis  worn  as  a  badge  of  honor  o'er  hearts  that  were  loyal 

and  true, 
And  is  borne  by  the  greatest  soldiers  who  ever  the  bright 

sword  drew. 
Glance  over  the  mighty  roster,  and  pause  at  each  honored 

name, 
And  reflect  fora  passing  moment  o'er  each  hero's  deathless 

fame, 
Then  answer  me  this  one  question,  if  you  find  it  is  in  your 

power : 
If  these  are  the  weeds  of  the  army,  in  God's  name  where  is 

the  flower? 


THAR'  WAS  JIM. 

Wildest  boy  in  all  the  village, 

Up  to  every  wicked  lark, 
Happy  at  a  chance  to  pillage 

Melon  patches  in  the  dark. 
Seemed  a  'tarnal  mischief  breeder, 

Fur  in  every  wicked  whim, 
Put  your  hand  upon  the  leader, 

Thar'  was  Jim. 

He  war  eighteen  Avhen  the  summons 

Come  fur  Union  volunteers, 
An'  the  fifin's  an'  the  drummin's 

An'  the  patriotic  cheers, 
Made  us  with  excitement  dance,  sir, 

Even  old  men,  staid  an'  prim, 
An'  among  the  fust  to  answer, 

Thar'  was  Jim. 

One  day  when  Gin'ral  wanted 

Volunteers  to  charge  a  place 
\Vhar'  the  rebel  banners  flaunted 

Imperdently  in  our  face, 
Seemed  as  though  the  cannons'  bellers 

Had  no  skeerishness  fur  him, 
Fur  among  the  foremost  fellers, 

Thar'  was  Jim. 

18 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  19 

How  we  cheered  'em  at  the  startin' 

On  that  fearful  charge  they  made, 
Fur  it  seemed  that  death  was  sartin 

In  that  fiery  ambuscade. 
Once  the  smoke  riz  up  a  showin' 

Them  as  up  the  hill  they  clim, 
An'  ahead,  an'  still  a  goin', 

Thar'  was  Jim. 

Git  thar'  ?    Wai,  yer  jest  a  screamin', 

Nothin'  could  have  stopped  them  men — 
Each  one  seemed  a  howlin'  demon 

Chargin'  on  a  fiery  pen. 
Purty  tough  w'en  next  I  found  him, 

Fur  with  face  all  black  an'  grim, 
Dead,  with  dead  men  all  around  him, 

Thar'  was  Jim. 

Friend  o'  mine?    I  reckon,  sorter- 
Met  him  fust  one  winter  night- 
Lord  !  but  wa'n't  that  storm  a  snorter 

W'en  I  went  fur  Doctor  White! 
W'en  I  heerd  my  wife  a  pleadin' 

Me  to  come  an'  look  at  him, 
Lyin'  in  her  arms  a  feedin% 
Thar'  was  Jim. 


A  HAPPY  HIT. 

Everybody  shuck  their  heads, 

In  a  doobious  sort  o'  way ; 
Talked  about  folks  makin'  beds, 

Inter  which  they'd  have  to  lay, 
All  because  young  Marcus  Pike 

Sort  of  sidled  up  to  me, 
An'  because  I  acted  like 

I  war'  summat  fond  o'  he. 

Sister  Marthy  raved  an'  tore, 

Said  I  would  disgrace  our  name, 
Brother  Wiiliam  ripped  an'  swore, 

Father  acted  fur  from  tame. 
Mother  didn't  seem  to  keer, 

Fur  she  acted  quiet  like, 
Jes'  as  if  she  had  no  fear 

That  I'd  marry  Marcus  Pike. 

Marthy  had  a  strappin'  beau 

Clerkin'  in  Si  Allen'  store, 
Six  foot  tall,  an'  seemed  to  know 

Everything ;  the  clothes  he  wore 
War'  the  best  Si  Allen  kep' 

In  his  place,  an'  Marthy  thought 
That  his  milingtary  step 

Marked  the  hero  to  a  dot. 

20 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  21 

Marthy  war'  the  oldest,  an' 

Tol'  me  I  had  much  to  learn, 
An'  I'd  better  hoi'  my  han' 

Till  I  got  a  beau  like  her'n. 
But  their  oppersition  jest 

Seemed  to  make  me  like  him  more. 
An'  I  done  my  level  best, 

His  affection  to  secure. 

When  the  bloody  war  bruk  out, 

Mark  jes'  couldn't  stay  to  hum, 
An'  I  heerd  'im  whoop  an'  shout, 

Follerin'  the  fife  an'  drum. 
When  he  come  to  say  goodbye, 

I  kep'  vowin'  through  my  tears, 
I'd  have  none  but  him  ef  I 

Had  to  wait  a  million  years. 

Marthy' s  feller  said  he  guessed 

War  'd  not  agree  with  him— 
That  the  fire  'at  moved  the  rest, 

War'  a  sort  o'  sudden  whim. 
So  right  in  the  store  he  stuck, 

Spite  o'  w'at  the  neighbors  said, 
That  he  didn't  have  the  pluck 

Fur  to  face  the  rebel  lead. 

Well,  all  through  them  bloody  years, 

I  war'  true  as  death  to  Mark, 
An'  I  calkilate  my  tears 

Would  'a  floated  Noah's  ark. 
Marthy 's  feller  married  her. 

An'  she  allus  kep'  a  sayin' 


22  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

I  war'  jest  a  donkey  fur 
All  my  waitin'  and  my  prayin'. 

But  at  last  the  fight  war'  o'er. 

An'  amid  the  people's  cheers, 
An'  a  anvil's  deaf  nin'  roar, 

An'  us  wim men's  joyful  tears, 
Back  come  Marcus  an'  the  rest, 

An',  not  carin'  who  war'  seein', 
i  jes'  hugged  'im  to  my  breast, 

Prouder  than  a  royal  queen. 

How  the  years  have  seemed  to  fly, 

Since  I  wed  my  soger  boy, 
He  seems  proud  o'  me,  an'  I 

Seem  to  swim  in  ceaseless  joy, 
An'  I  reckon  Marthy  sees 

That  I  niade  a  happy  hit- 
Mark  is  jestis  o'  the  peace — 

Her  ol'  man's  aclerkiu'  yit. 


THE  VETERAN  AND  HIS  GRANDSON. 

Hold  on !  Hold  on  !  My  goodness,  you  take  my  breath,  my 
son, 

A  firin'  questions  at  me,  like  shots  from  a  Gatlin'  gun — 

Why  do  I  wear  this  eagle  an'  flag  an'  brazen  star, 

An'  why  do  my  old  eyes  glisten  when  somebody  mentions 
war  ? 

And  why  do  I  call  men  "comrade,"  an'  why  do  my  eyes 
grow  bright, 

When  you  hear  me  tell  your  grandma  I'm  goin'  to  post  to- 
night? 

Come  here,  you  inquisitive  rascal,  an' set  on  your  granddad's 
knee. 

An'  I'll  try  an'  answer  the  broadsides  you've  been  a-firin'at 
me. 

Away  b  ack  tliar'  in  the  sixties,  and  long  afore  you  were 
born, 

The  news  come  a-fiashin'  to  us,  one  bright  an'  sunny  morn, 

That  some  of  our  Southern  brothers,  a-thinkin'  no  doubt 
'twar  right, 

Had  trailed  their  guns  on  our  banner,  an'  opened  a  nasty 
fight. 

The  great  big  guns  war  a-boomin',  an'  the  shot  flyin'  thick 
an'  fast, 

An' troops  all  over  thesouthland  war  rapidly  bein' massed, 

An'  a  thrill  went  through  the  nation,  a  fear  that  our  glo- 
rious land 

23 


24  CAMP  HRE  SPARKS 

Might  be  split  an' divided  an'  ruined  by  mistaken  brothers' 
hand. 

Lord  !  but  wa'n't  there  excitement,  an'  didn't  the  boys'  eyes 

flash? 
An'  didn't  we  curse  our  brothers  fur  bein'  so  foolish  an' 

rash  ? 
An'  didn't  we  raise  the  Neighbors  with  loud  an'  continued 

cheers, 

When  Abe  sent  out  a  dockyment  a-callin'  fur  volunteers? 
An,  didn't  we  flock  to  the  colors  when  the  drums  began  to 

beat, 
An'  didn't   we  march  with   proud   step  along  this   village 

street? 

An'  didn't  the  people  cheer  us  when  we  got  aboard  the  cars, 
With  the  flag  a-wavin'  o'er  us,  and  went  away  to  the  wars? 

I'll  never  forgit  your  grandma  as  she  stood  outside  o'  the 

train, 

Her  face  as  white  asasnowdrift,  her  tears  a-fallin'  like  rain- 
She  stood  thar'  quiet  an'  deathlike,  'mid  all  o'  the  rush  an' 

noise, 
For  the  war  war  a-takin'  from  her  her  husband  an'  three 

brave  boys — 
Bill,  Charley,  and  little  Tommy— just  turned  eighteen,  but  as 

true 

An'  gallant  a  little  soldier  as  ever  wore  the  blue. 
It  seemed  almost  like  murder  for  to  tear  her  poor  heart  so, 
But  your  granddad  couldn't  stay,  baby,  an'  the  boys  war  de- 
termined to  go. 

The  evenin'  afore  we  started  she  called  the  boys  to  her  side, 
An1  told  'em  as  how  they  war  always  their  mother's  joy  an' 
pride, 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  25 

An' though  her  soul  was  in  torture,  an'  her  poor  heart  bleed- 
in'  an'  sore, 

An'  though  she  needed  her  darlings,  their  country  needed 
'em  more. 

She  told  'em  to  do  their  duty  whar'ever  their  feet  might 
roam, 

An'  to  never  forgit  in  battle  their  mother  war  prayin'  at 
home, 

An  if  (an1  the  tears  nigh  choked  her)  they  should  fall  in 
front  o1  the  foe, 

She'd  go  to  her  blessed  Savior  an*  ax  Him  to  lighten  the 
blow. 

Bill  lays  an'  awaits  the  summons  'neath  Spottsylvania's 

sod, 
An'  on  the  field  of  Antietam  Charley's  spirit  went  back  to 

God; 

An'  Tommy,  our  baby  Tommy,  we  buried  one  starlit  night 
Along  with  his  fallen  comrades,  just  after  the  Wilderness 

fight. 
The  lightnin'  struck  our  family  tree,  an'  stripped  it  of  every 

limb, 

A-leavin' only  this  bare  old  trunk,  a-standin'  alone  an*  grim, 
My  boy,  that's  why  your  grandma,  when  you  kneel  to  the 

God  you  love, 
Makes  you  ax  Him  to  watch  your  uncles,  an'  make  'em 

happy  above. 

That's  why  you  sometimes  see  her  with  tear-drops  in  her 

eyes; 
That's  why  you  sometimes  catch  her  a-tryin'  to  hide  her 

sighs ; 
That's  why  at  our  great  reunions  she  looks  so  solemn  an' 

sad; 


26  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

That's  why  her  heart  seems  a-breakin'  when  the  boys  are  so 

jolly  an'  glad; 

That's  why  you  sometimes  find  her  in  the  bedroom  overhead, 
Down  on  her  knees  a-prayin',  with  their  pictures  laid  out  on 

the  bed ; 
That's  why  the  old-time  brightness  will  light  up  her  face  no 

more, 
Till  she  meets  her  hero  warriors  in  the  camp  on  the  other 

shore. 

An'  when  the  great  war  was  over,  back  came  the  veterans 

true, 

With  not  one  star  a-missin'  from  that  azure  field  of  blue, 
An'  the  boys  who  on  field  o'  battle  had  stood  the  fiery  test 
Formed  posts  o'  the  great  Grand  Army  in  the  North,  South, 

East,  an'  West. 
Fraternity,  Charity,  Loyalty,  is  the  motto   'neath  which 

they  train, 
Their  object  to  care  for  the  helpless,  an'  banish  sorrow  aji' 

pain 
From  the  homes  o'  the  widows,  an'  orphans  o'  the  boys 

who  have  gone  before, 
To  answer  their  names  at  roll-call  in  that  great  Grand 

Army  Corps. 

An'  that's  why  we  wear  these  badges,  the  eagle  an'  flag  an' 
star. 

Worn  only  by  veteran  heroes  who  fought  in  that  bloody 
war; 

An'  that's  why  my  old  eyes  glisten  when  talkin'  about  the 
fray, 

An'  that's  why  I  call  men  "comrade"  when  I  meet  'em 
every  day ; 

An'  that's  why  I  tell  your  grandma,  "I'm  goin'  to  post  to- 
night." 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  27 

For  thar's  where  I  meet  the  old  boys  who  stood  with  me 
in  the  fight, 

And,  my  child,  that's  why  I've  taught  you  to  love  and  re- 
vere the  men 

Who  come  here  a- wearin' badges  to  fight  thosebattles  again. 

They  are  the  gallant  heroes  who  stood  'mid  the  shot  and 

shell, 

An'  follered  the  flyin'  colors  right  into  the  mouth  o'  hell — 
They  are  the  men  whose  valor  saved  the  land  from  disgrace 

an'  shame, 
An'  lifted  her  back  in  triumph  to  her  perch  on  the  dome  o' 

fame ; 
An'  as  long  as  you  live,  my  darling,  till  your  pale  lips  in 

death  are  mute, 
When  you  see  that  badge  on  a  bosom,  take  off  your  hat 

an'  salute ; 

An'  if  any  ol'  vet  should  halt  you,  an'  question  why  you  do, 
Just  tell  him  you've  got  a  right  to,  fur  your  granddad's  a 

comrade  too. 


HE  CHANGED  HIS  VIEWS 

An'  so  you've  bin  to  Washington  to  that  big  'campment 

thar'  ? 

An'  since  the  hoodoo's  over  I  suppose  you  want  to  sw'ar 
Fur  bein'  sich  a  cussed  fool  a-wastin'  of  yer  cash 
To  whoop  an'  yell,  an'  wa'r  a  badge,  an'  all  sich  useless 

trash. 

It  seems  to  me  a  man's  an  ass  to  squander  sich  a  sum 
To  hear  agin  the  squeakin'  fife  an'  'tarnal  rattliii'  drum, 
An'  see  a  big,  hot,  dusty  crowd  o'  fellers  sich  as  us, 
An'  speechify,  an'  sing  ol'  songs,  an'  make  a  howlin'  fuss. 

They've  bin  a  holdin'  'campments  now  fur — well,  fur  since 

the  war, 

An'  I  ain't  bin  to  ary  one,  an1  wa't  is  more  I  sw'ar 
That  they  kin' keep  on  holdin'  'em  till  Gabriel's  bugle  blows, 
But  'mong  the  foolish  fellers  thar'  you  wont  see  Uncle  Mose. 
I  work  an'  toil  mos'  'tarnal  hard  for  all  the  cash  I  git, 
An'  I  ain't  idiot  enough  to  go  an'  squander  it 
Fur  these  confounded  yearly  sprees  o'  men  that  wore  the 

blue — 
To  put  it  plainly,  Dan,  I  ain't  as  big  a  fool  as  you. 

Bill  Thompson  thar'  an'  sent  his  love?  Big  S'argent  Bill? 

O,  no— 

I  got  it  purty  straight  he  died  a  dozen  years  ago — 
Thar'  sure  enough?    Stop  lyin',  Dan,  or  you  may  feel  this 

boot, 

28 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  29 

I  swar  to  gosh  I'd  give  a  cow  to  see  that  oF  galoot. 

How  did  he  look  ?    The  durned  oF  cuss !    Gray  as  a  rat,  I 

guess, 

Big  S'argent  Bill,  the  jolliest  boy  we  had  in  all  our  mess, 
His  heart  in  keepin'  with  his  bulk,  a  brave  oF  soldier,  too — 
An'  so  you  seed  Mm?    Wish  to  gosh  I  could  a  bin  with  you. 

Who?    O,  shet  up!    Jack  Allison?    You  didn't  see  oF  Jack? 
If  you  don't  stop  yer  lyin'  Dan,  I'll  break  yer  cussed  back ! 
God  bless  his  oF  good  natured  soul !    Say  does  he  mind  it 

much 

A  swoppin'  off  one  o'  his  legs  at  Vicksburg  for  a  crutch?- 
Poor  Jack!    That  was  a  fearful  shot!    A  piece  of  screamin' 

shell 

Come  shriekin'  like  a  demon  from  that  blazin'  line  o'  hell, 
An'  left  the  poor  boy  layin'  thar'  with  one  leg  shattered 

bad, 
An'  swearin'  like  a  trooper,  too !    Great  guns,  but  wa'nt  he 

mad! 

You  seed  oF  Chaplain  Stewart,  too?  An'  Captain  Double- 
day? 

Say,  Dan,  I  honest  don't  believe  a  'tarnal  word  you  say  ! 

Who?  Go  to  grass!  Not  little  Tom  !  the  same  cute  rascal 
still? 

By  Jinks,  I'd  ruther  see  that  boy  than  find  a  dollar  bill. 

An'  Simon  Gregg?    An'  Mexico?    An'  lengthy  Oscar  Plumb, 

Who  used  to  sing  the  song  about  that  gal  he  left  to  hum? 

An'  Frank  Moran,  the  heartless  cuss  as  stole  the  Colonel's 
ham. 

An'  swore  it  war  a  colored  contraband?    Well-I-be-dam! 

Ed  Bassett  thar'  ?   I've  got  you,  Dan !  That  sort  o'  lie  don't 

go, 
Fur  Ed's  a  cattle  ranchin'  now  down  in  New  Mexico — 


30  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

Come  all  the  way  to  see  the  boys?    Wai,  bless  his  lovin, 

eyes— 
That's  Ed,  though — tackle  anything,  no  matter  what  the 

size! 

Who  ?   Aleck  Pierce,  as  toted  me  a  mile  or  more  one  night 
When  I  was  wounded  in  the  hip  at  that  durned  Shiloh 

fight? 

An'  he  was  thar ;  an'  said  he  come  a-purpose  to  see  me? 
Wai,  by  the  Gods  Of  War!    Say,  Dan,  Whar'll  the  next  'un  be? 


THE  LAST  ROLL-CALL. 

With  pallid  face  a  soldier  brave  lay  dying, 

His  life-blood  dampening  the  Southern  sod, 
While  all  around  him  "bleeding  forms  were  lying, 

With  dim  and  death  touched  eyes  upturned  to  God. 
On  every  side  the  battle  roared  and  thundered, 

And  shot  and  shell  with  maddeping  shrieks  flew  by, 
And  many  souls,  from  mangled  bodies  sundered, 

Soared  upward  to  the  Master's  camp  on  high. 

"Here!   Here!"  the  dying  soldier  eager  muttered, 

And  passing  comrade  knelt  above  his  form 
And  asked  him  what  he  wished — if  he  had  uttered 

The  call  for  help  amid  the  battle's  storm  ? 
"Ah!"  he  replied,  "I  need  no  help  from  mortal, 

(And  o'er  his  face  a  smile  angelic  came), 
The  roll  is  being  called  at  heaven's  portal, 

And  I  but  answered  when  I  heard  my  name." 


JIM'S  LETTER. 

I  sat  on  the  crest  of  a  mountain  high 

Overlooking  Jornado's  plain, 
The  mocking-bird  sang  in  the  woods  close  by 

In  a  glad  and  sweet  refrain, 
And  the  doves  were  cooing  among  the  trees, 

And  the  deer  browsed  at  my  feet, 
With  the  scent  of  wild  flowers  perfuming  the  breeze 

It  was  Nature  in  Nature's  retreat. 

And  my  heart  just  danced  to  the  song-bird's  tune, 

And  forgotten  was  every  care, 
And  it  seemed  that  balmy  and  flowery  June 

Instead  of  the  Winter  was  there, 
And  I  rolled  in  the  grass  and  laughed  and  sang 

In  a  joyous  and  glad  refrain, 
Till  the  deer  ran  off  and  the  old  woods  rang, 

And  the  echo  came  back  again. 

Then  a  shot  rang  out  and  a  bang !  bang !  bang ! 

And  my  heart  leaped  again  with  joy, 
And  I  laughed  once  more  till  the  old  woods  rang, 

For  I  knew  it  was  Harry,  my  boy. 
Then  near  to  my  side  on  his  foaming  mare 

He  stopped,  and  I  held  my  breath. 
His  face  was  the  picture  of  cold  despair, 

And  as  white  as  the  face  of  death. 

"Speak  out!   Great  God,  don't  look  like  that, 
With  your  white  face  dusty  and  grim." 
31 


32  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

Then  he  said,  as  he  raised  his  broad-brimmed  hat, 
"Here's  a  letter  from  Corporal  Jim." 

And  he  stole  away  to  a  tree  close  by, 
With  his  head  drooping  low  on  his  breast; 

I  knew  it  was  death  by  the  tear  in  his  eye — 
Jim's  letter  must  tell  the  rest. 

The  blood  in  my  veins  seemed  its  course  to  retrace, 

And  the  song  birds  of  Heaven  were  still, 
An  eclipse  came  over  the  sunny  face 

Of  that  joyous  and  gladsome  hill. 
All  Nature  seemed  hushed  as  I  held  in  my  hand 

That  message  from  comrade  of  mine, 
And  I  can't  explain  and  I  don't  understand, 

But  somehow — it  started  the  brine. 

With  eager  eyes  and  with  trembling  hand 

I  gazed  for  an  instant,  and  then 
My  heart  stood  still ;  the  writing  I  scanned 

Was  from  one  of  God's  own  noble  men. 
The  seal  was  broken,  and  the  mist  arose 

In  my  eyes  while  I  read  it  out : 
"Who'll  champion  us  now,  God  only  knows, 

Since  Logan  is  mustered  out." 

i 
Oh,  comrades  of  mine,  he  was  dearer  to  me 

Than  the  wealth  of  my  western  wild, 
And  the  soft  balmy  breeze  and  the  doves  on  the  tree 

Seemed  to  moan,  while  I  wept  like  a  child. 
Yes,  boys,  and  I  want  you  to  understand 

What  I  say  I  will  never  take  back, 
And  I  thought  it  was  noble  and  brave  and  grand 
•     To  cry  for  a  hero  like  Jack, 

To  cry  in  the  wildwood  when  no  one  was  near. 
Save  my  boy,  and  he  joined  me,  you  bet, 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  33 

For  the  child  of  a  soldier  to  Jack  was  most  dear, 
And  his  grave  with  their  tears  will  keep  wet. 

And  who,  if  not  I,  should  inscribe  to  the  name 
Of  that  hero  now  gone  to  his  rest, 

A  song  from  the  wild  wood,  the  mountain  and  plain, 
For  Black  Jack  was  a  son  of  the  West. 

Our  Great  Alexander,  our  mightiest  Chief, 

Every  heart-throb  that  beat  in  his  breast, 
Was  the  music  that  chimed  in  his  heart  for  relief 

For  our  widows  and  orphans  distressed. 
Sincere  in  his  friendship,  from  trickery  free, 

With  honesty's  stamp  on  his  face, 
And  we  ask,  as  we  bow  low  to  Heaven's  decree, 

"Lord,  raise  up  a  man  in  his  place." 

A  man  whom  the  comrades  can  love  and  revere, 

A  soldier  arid  statesman  combined, 
Upright  in  deportment,  unconscious  of  fear, 

Yet  modest  and  gentle  and  kind. 
A  man  who  stood  with  us  on  many  a  field, 

When  the  shots  wildly  shrieked  in  the  air, 
A  man  whose  convictions  never  would  yield, 

A  duplicate  Jack,  as  it  were. 


"WHEN  BILL  COME  HOME." 

Hold  'im?  No.  A  yoke  o'  steers 

Couldn't  held  that  boy  o*  mine, 
Wen  the  call  fur  volunteers 

Come  a  ringin'  down  the  line. 
Patriotism  strong  an'  pure 

Hit  'im  like  a  burstin'  bomb — 
Sed  he'd  be  a  gin'ral.  sure, 

Wen  he  come  home. 

Course  his  mother  up  an'  cried, 

Jes'  as  any  mother  would 
Ef  her  only  joy  an'  pride 

Went  away,  perhaps  fur  good, 
But  he  knocked  her  reasonin' 

Inter  sort  o'  honey-comb — 
Sed  he'd  make  'er  smile  ag'in, 

Wen  he  come  home. 

Off  he  marched,  an'  I  suppose 

No  one  in  the  regiment 
Looked  so  fine  in  soger  clothes 

As  our  Bill  the  day  he  went. 
Neighbors  'lowed  he'd  turn  out  bad, 

But  we  told  'm  how  we'd  show'm 
Wat  a  noble  boy  we  had, 

Wen  Bill  come  home. 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  35 

Got  a  letter  now  an'  then 

Tellin'  how  he  got  along, 
How  he  thought  o'  mother  w'en 

Tempted  fur  to  do  a  wrong. 
"An',"  sed  he,  "you'll  shout  so  loud 

That  you'll  shatter  heaven's  dome. 
'Cause  you'll  feel  so  monst'ous  proud 

W'en  Bill  comes  home. 

'Mong  his  letters  thar'  was  one 

More'n  all  the  rest,  perhaps, 
Pleased  us,  fur  he  said  he'd  won 

A  lef  ten  ant's  shoulder  straps 
Fur  his  brav'ry  in  a  row 

Down  in  Georgy,  front  o'  Rome- 
Said  we'd  hold  our  heads  up  now 

W'en  Bill  come  home. 

Purty  soon  the  papers  said, 

That  fur  conduct  o'  some  sort, 
Owin'  to  the  way  he  led 

Of  his  sogers  'gin  a  fort, 
Some  affair  was  read  out  loud 

Makin'  of  him  "Captain"  Bloom— 
"Lor!"  we  said,  "won't  we  be  proud, 

W'en  Bill  comes  home." 

Then  the  news  went  o'er  the  land 

O'  that  great  Atlanter  fight, 
An'  we  couldn't  understand 

W'y  our  William  didn't  write. 
Neighbors  tried  ter  lift  us  out 

O'  the  orful  cloud  o'  gloom— 
Sed  they'd  come  an'  help  us  shout, 


36  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

Wen  Bill  come  home. 

*****< 

Coffin  in  the  bag-gage  car, 

Black  as  ever  black  could  be. 
All  the  neighbors  standin'  thar' 

Pityin'  of  wife  an'  me 
Meetin'  of  our  darlin'  boy 

Jes'  ter  put  Mm  in  the  tomb, 
Give  us  sorrow  'stead  o'  joy, 

Wen  Bill  come  home. 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  MARCHING  THROUGH  GEORGIA. 

Now  lay  the  good  old  bugle  down  and  let  me  toot  my  horn, 
And  lay  aside  the  good  old  song,  that's  getting  somewhat 

worn; 

The  shoe  I  think  will  fit  you  if  you'll  all  own  up  the  corn, 
As  we  went  marching  through  Georgia. 

We  never  found  a  chicken  that  could  roost  out  of  our  reach, 
We  seldom  had  a  chaplain  that  could  find  the  time  to  preach, 
We  never  saw  a  soldier  pass  a  shirt  hung  out  to  bleach, 
As  we  went  marching  through  Georgia. 

Oh,  how  we  used  to  toil   along  right  through  the  swamps 

and  bogs, 

And  how  the  ladies  blushed  at  our  dilapidated  togs, 
And  how  we  showed  our  bravery  assassinating  hogs, 
As  we  went  marching  through  Georgia. 

When  charging  on  a  chicken  roost,  the  rebel  girls  cried 

"shame!" 
And  said  our  actions  would  disgrace  the  soldiers'  honored 

name. 
They  came  at  us  with  clubs  and  dogs,  but  we  got  there  just 

the  same, 

As  we  went  marching  through  Georgia. 

When  coming  in  from  foraging  sometimes  we  would  get 
caught, 

37 


38  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

The  colonel  then  would  paw  the  ground,  and  swear  he'd 

have  us  shot, 
And  then  he'd  eye  our  captured  fowls  and  fine  us  half  we 

got, 

As  we  went  marching  through  Georgia. 

Whene'er  we'd  catch  a  grandpa  goose,  too  old  and  tough 

and  strong, 
And  thought  it  was  too  rich  for  us,  but  good  for  the  "bong 

tong," 

We'd  send  it  to  the  general,  and  laugh  both  loud  and  long, 
As  we  went  marching  through  Georgia. 

When  ordered  up  some  earthwork,  or  some  battery  to  take, 
I've  seen  some  heavy  charges,  that  caused   the  earth  to 

quake, 

They  were  nothing  to  the  charges  the  sutlers  used  to  make, 
As  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 


SCENE  IN  A  SOLDIERS'  HOME. 

Adjutant,  read  that  letter  ag'in. 

I  kin  scurcely  believe  my  ears — 
My  hearin'  is  gettin'  meaner  'n  sin, 

As  I  creep  along  in  years, 
An'  it  sounds  blame  funny  fur  John  to  say, 
He  wants  me  at  home  ag-'in  right  away. 

That's  w'at  it  says,  dead  sartin,  sure, 
An'  he  calls  me  his  "father  dear," 

That — arter  drivin'  me  from  his  door, 
An'  a  forcin'  of  me  here. 

I  reckon  the  Lord  has  tuk  my  part, 

By  givin'  the  boy  a  change  o'  heart. 

An'  his  wife,  she  writes  a  line  or  two, 
Sayin'  how  they  miss  me  there, 

An'  how  she  weeps  at  the  sad,  sad  view 
O'  my  empty  easy-chair. 

Well,  well,  w'ats  the  world  a-driving  at, 

Wen  it  brings  about  sich  changes  as  that? 

I'll  tell  you,  Adjutant,  how  it  was: 

John  married  two  years  ago, 
An'  said  it  was  fur  1113^  good,  because 

I  was  gittin'  old,  you  know, 
An'  he  reckoned  we  needed  a  woman  there 
To  'tend  the  house  and  give  me  some  care. 


39 


40  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

She  seemed  like  an  angel  sproutin'  wings, 

Under  John's  trairiin',  I  guess, 
An'  she  humped  around  an'  looked  arter  things, 

With  remarkable  quickliness ; 
An'  to  me  she  was  just  as  good  an'  kind 
As  any  man's  darter  you  could  find. 

Wen  John  came  in  from  the  field  one  day 

He  sez  to  me,  "Father,"  sez  he, 
"You're  a-gittin'  old,  an'  in  feeblish  way, 

Wy  not  deed  the  farm  to  me? 
Then  you'll  have  no  care,  an'  me  'n  my  wife 
Will  see  to  your  comfort  all  your  life." 

Well,  Adjutant,  that  looked  proper,  quite, 

An'  I  told  him  I  was  agreed, 
An'  he  went  to  town  to  a  lawyer  that  night, 

An'  had  him  make  out  the  deed. 
An*  then  I  lolled  back  in  my  old  arm-chair, 
An'  thanked  the  Lord  that  I  hadn't  a  care. 

All  at  once  Auiandy  got  awful  cross, 

An'  never  give  me  a  smile, 
An'  John  begun  to  tear  'round  an'  boss 

In  a  most  presumptuous  style, 
An'  if  I'd  attempt  fur  to  interfere, 
He'd  crush  me  by  sayin',  "I'm  master  here." 

Things  kep'  a  gittin'  wuss  an'  wuss, 

An'  it  come  in  my  head  one  day, 
Like  a  shot  from  an  ol'-time  blunderbuss, 

That  the  oF  man  was  in  the  way, 
An'  now  that  they  had  the  property, 
The  nex'  move  was  how  to  get  rid  of  me. 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  41 

An'  HO  they  made  a  hell  on  earth 

()'  the  home  I  loved  so  dear, 
An'  the  boy  I'd  doted  upon  since  his  birth 

Insisted  on  sendin'  me  here, 
An'  Aniandy  chipped  in,  sayin'  spitefully, 
'Twas  the  only  place  fit  for  such  as  me. 

An'  now  they  are  sorry.     Say,  Adjutant, 

Jest  write  'em  a  letter  fur  me, 
How  happy  they've  made  me,  and  how  I  want 

To  return  to  them  instantly; 
An'  tell  'em  I  thank  the  good  Lord  above 
For  fillin'  their  hearts  with  the  oF-time  love. 

But  hoF  on  !     Aha!  I  see  it  now — 

Tear  that  up,  and  write  'em  that  I 
Am  happy  an'  satisfied  here,  an'  how 

I'll  stay  right  here  till  I  die — 
That  two  thousand  dollars  back  pension  I  got 
Is  the  Lord  that's  a-movin' their  hearts.    Eh?    What? 


CHEERS  FOR  THE  LIVING,   TEARS   FOR  THE  DEAD. 

When  we  gather  around  the  camp  fire 

To  talk  of  battles  fought, 
Of  the  camps,  the  sieges  and  marches, 

And  our  Union  so  dearly  bought, 
Let  us  not  forget  our  comrades, 

Who  their  warmest  life-blood  shed — 
When  we  sound  a  cheer  for  the  living, 

Let  us  drop  a  tear  for  the  dead. 

When  the  post  room  rings  with  laughter, 
Or  resounds  with  the  rattling  song, 

And  we  feel  so  gay  and  jolly, 
As  the  moments  speed  along, 

Let  us  pause  in  our  merry  making, 
And  reverent  bow  each  head, 

And  still  our  cheers  for  the  living- 
While  we  drop  a  tear  for  the  dead. 

In  the  blazing  front  of  battle, 

Where  shot  and  shell  flew  fast, 
Where  the  very  ground  was  reeling, 

Like  a  tree  before  the  blast, 
The  boys  who  have  gone  before  us, 

Their  blood  in  the  great  cause  shed- 
Then  while  we  cheer  for  the  living 

Let  us  drop  a  tear  for  the  dead. 

42 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  43 

In  the  bivouac  of  heaven, 

On  the  banks  of  the  sparkling  stream, 
Where  the  tree  of  life  is  waving, 

Their  camp  fires  radiant  gleam, 
And  there  they  watch  for  our  coming, 

With  the  spirits'  martial  tread- 
Then  while  we  cheer  for  the  living 

Let  us  drop  a  tear  for  the  dead. 


SUNSHINE. 

I  never  like  to  see  a  man  a  'rastlin1  with  the  dumps 

'Cause  in  the  game  of  life  he  doesn't  always  catch  the  trumps, 

But  I  can  always  cotton  to  a  free  and  easy  cuss, 

As  takes  his  dose,  and  thanks  the  Lord  it  isn't  any  wuss. 
There  ain't  no  use  o'  kickin'  and  swearin'  at  your  luck, 
You  can't  correct  the  trouble  more'n  you  can  drown  a  duck. 

Remember,  when  beneath  the  load  your  sufferin'  head  is 
bowed, 

That  God  '11  sprinkle  sunshine  in  the  trail  of  every  cloud. 

If  you  should  see  a  fellow-man  with  trouble's  flag  unfurled, 
And  lookin'  like  he  didn't  have  a  friend  in  all  the  world, 

Go  up  and  slap  him  on  the  back,  and  holler  "  how  d'  you 
do," 

And  grasp  his  hand  so  warm  he'll  know  he  has  a  friend  in 

you. 

Then  ax  him  what's  ahurtin'  Mm,  and  laugh  his  cares  away, 
And  tell  him  that  the  darkest  night  is  just  afore  the  day. 

Don't  talk  in  graveyard  palaver,  but  say  it  right  out  loud, 

That  God  '11  sprinkle  sunshine  in  the  trail  of  every  cloud. 


44  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

This  world  at  best  is  but  a  hash  of  pleasure  and  of  pain, 
Some  days  are  bright  and  sunny,  and  some  all  sloshed  with 

rain, 
And  that's  just  how  it  ought  to  be,  for  when  the  clouds 

roll  by 
We'll  know  just  how  to  'preciate  the  bright  and  smilin1 

sky. 

So  learn  to  take  it  as  it  comes,  and  don't  sweat  at  the  pores 
Because  the  Lord's  opinion  doesn't  coincide  with  yours, 
But  always  keep  rememberin',   when  cares  your   path 

enshroud. 
That  God  has  lots  of  sunshine  to  spill  behind  the  cloud. 


SLEEP,  SOLDIER,  SLEEP. 

[A  Memorial  Day  Song.] 

Sleep,  soldier,  sleep,  thy  warfare  is  o'er, 
War's  dread  alarums  shall  wake  thee  no  more, 
Sleep,  calmly  sleep,  'neath  the  flowering  sod, 
Waiting  the  reveille  sounded  from  God. 
Over  thy  resting  place  bright  flowers  we  twine, 
Gratitude's  emblems  on  loyalty's  shrine, 
Fruits  of  your  valor  we  gratefully  reap, 
Freedom  and  liberty — sleep — sleep — sleep. 

Beautiful  flowers  of  Spring, 

Lovingly  here  we  bring, 
Sacred  thy  memory  ever  we'll  keep, 

Under  the  grassy  sod, 

Waiting  the  call  from  God, 
Sweetly  and  peacefully — sleep — sleep — sleep. 


CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS  45 

Rest,  soldier,  rest,  thy  peace  thou  hast  earned, 
On  the  red  fields  where  the  battle  fires  burned — 
Rest,  sweetly  rest,  for  aweary  wert  thou, 
Winning  the  laurels  which  circled  thy  brow. 
Soon  will  the  trumpeter  wakethee  again, 
Sounding  "Assembly"  on  heaven's  bright  plain, 
There  with  your  comrades  in  realms  of  the  blest, 
Through  all  eternity,  rest,  sweet  rest. 

Beautiful  flowers  of  Spring, 

Lovingly  here  we  bring, 
Sacred  thy  memory  ever  we'll  keep, 

Under  the  grassy  sod, 

Waiting  the  call  from  God, 
Sweetly  and  peacefully— sleep— sleep— sleep. 


WHO  THE  HEROES  WERE. 

You  "never  was  scared  in  battle?"   Here, 

Old  comrade,  don't  make  a  break  like  that! 
The  man  don't  live  who  was  free  from  fear 

When  the  vicious  bullets  began  to  spat, 
And  the  cannons  belched  from  their  iron  throats 

The  deafening  notes  of  the  song  of  war — 
The  frightful,  terrible,  thundering  notes 

That  caused  the  eternal  earth  to  jar. 

I've  heard  men  say  they  were  just  as  cool 

In  the  heat  of  battle  as  they  would  be 
In  a  quiet  seat  in  a  Sabbath  school, 

But  they  couldn't  find  a  believer  in  me. 
I  never  flinched,  never  shirked  a  call, 

But  several  times  in  the  war  swept  south 
If  I'd  been  shot  through  the  heart  the  ball 

Would  have  had  to  hit  me  square  in  the  mouth. 

It's  the  silliest  sort  of  talk  we  hear— 

And  hear  from  soldiers  of  solid  worth — 
That  they  stood  in  the  front  and  felt  nojfear 

When  the  rumblings  of  battle  convulsed  the  earth. 
I  hold  that  our  bravest  men  were  those 

Who  felt  alarm  at  the  cannon's  roar, 
Yet  never  rearward  pointed  their  toes, 

But  stood  like  men  till  the  battle  was  o'er. 


46 


NOT  A  SIN*  TO  LIE  THAT  WAY. 

The  old  vets  now  will  often  sit  and  tell  their  loving  wives 
Of  many  stirring  incidents  that  crossed  their  soldier  lives — 
The  marches,  camps  and  sieges,  the  battles  hard  they  fought, 
And  how  they  stood  up  gallantly  amid  the  storms  of  shot; 
But  raids  on  chicken   rendezvous  they'll  swear  they  never 

made, 

Nor  never  helped  assassinate  a  hog  in  Southern  glade, 
Nor  never  "beat"  the  Sutler  when  they  drew  their  monthly 

pay— 
They  seem  to  think  it  not  a  sin  to  lie  that  way. 

They'll  talk  of  great  privations  they  were  called  on  to  endure, 
^•id  how  they'd  laugh  at  hardships  which  their '"kicking" 

couldn't  cure — 
The  Seating  rains,  the  driving  snows,  and  many  a  dire 

distress 

TTiey  wiii  relate  in  sentences  of  glowing  vividness. 
They'll  scowl  with  indignation  at  hint  of  how  they  shirked, 
And  how  thv  many  "soldier"  games  successfully  they  worked ; 
They  never  dodged  guard  duty,  but  were  always  prompt, 

they'll  *.sa.v, 
And  seem  to  thir.  k  it  riot  a  sin  to  lie  that  way. 

They'll  tell  of  how  f>om  blanket  beds  their  truant  thoughts 

would  roam 

Unto  the  dear,  good,  lo>  i\  girls  they  left  in  distant  home, 
And  how  their  martial  hea  "ts  would  throb  with  rapture  at 

the  thought 

47 


48  CAMP  FIRE  SPARKS 

Of  sweethearts'  Toying  welcome  when  the  battles  all  were 

fought. 
Just  hint  to  one  that  he  was  sweet  on  some  fair  Southern 

girl, 

He'll  shake  his  head  emphatic  and  his  lip  will  scornful  curl ; 
He'll  say  that  to  his  own  love  he  was  loyal  every  day, 
And  seem  to  think  it  not  a  sin  to  lie  that  way. 

With  faces  tinged  with  sorrow  as  memory  takes  them  back, 
They'll  tell  of  pangs  of  hunger  when  the  rations  would  get 

slack, 
And  how  the  corn  from  mules  they'd  filch,  so  desp'rate  did 

they  grow, 

While  staring  in  starvation's  face  in  chase  of  Southern  foe. 
And  then  with  look  of  innocence  they'll  tell  of  many  a  raid 
Their  more  ungodly  comrades  on  the  big  plantations  made. 
But  raiding  was  a  crime  which  at  their  own  doors  didn't 

lay — 
They  seem  to  think  it  not  a  sin  to  lie  that  way. 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 
University  of  California  Library 
or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 
2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 

(415)642-6233 
1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books 

to  NRLF 
Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days 

prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


HPT  31  1988 


Mi 

C911 

Crawford,  J 

.  w. 

Ca 

Oamp  fire 

spraKS 

H 

—  



